"If he will tell me so to my face, I should like to have him do it. I will give him an opportunity to-morrow."
Mr. Whippleton was indignant. He talked honest, and I could not gainsay him. I was almost inclined to believe that I was a fool, and had made a blunder; but as he was willing to go to Chicago, I was satisfied to leave the adjustment of the whole matter to Mr. Collingsby. We went on deck, and as there was a little breeze, we tripped the anchor, and stood up the lagoon. I was bewildered; but my heaviest catastrophe was yet to come.
CHAPTER XXIII.
IN WHICH PHIL, IN THE MARIAN, GETS THE WEATHER-GAGE OF THE FLORINA.
There was scarcely a breath of wind when we weighed anchor. Mr. Whippleton insisted upon running up to the Florina, in order to leave his tender, and to obtain certain articles he had left on board. The breeze entirely failed before we had made half the distance, and we were obliged to anchor again to prevent being drifted ashore. Mr. Whippleton and old Peter took both the tenders, and visited the Florina, leaving Marian and myself alone again.
"I am so thankful that you had no quarrel," said she, as we sat together in the standing-room, watching the receding boats.
"So am I, Marian."
"And it seems that you were mistaken in regard to his accounts."
"I don't think I was," I replied, rather warmly. "I am perplexed and bothered; but I don't see how I can be mistaken."